


In which Gil changes his plans

by Overlord_Bethany



Series: Poison in Paris [2]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Paris hijinks, Pre-Canon, here there be poison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 08:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12207522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overlord_Bethany/pseuds/Overlord_Bethany
Summary: More than once, in fact.





	In which Gil changes his plans

Gil didn’t frequent Café Insomnie as often as the other students did. Occasionally, his friends dragged him in to enjoy the coffee, the food, and the tremendous crowd. Sometimes his extracurricular pursuits drove him into the popular cafe. Very rarely, causes coincided. 

He had started the day with no plans outside of schoolwork. Then Wooster had turned up and offered to buy him coffee and pastries in exchange for a consultation regarding a schematic. No, he did not have the schematic on him at the moment, thank you, did he look like an imbecile? Well, that had sounded promising. Like an ordinary student, Gil had packed up his notes and headed for the cafe. 

Colette was waiting for them when they arrived. Gil looked to Wooster, who shrugged. If he had invited her too, he would never admit it. And if he had not, well, Colette Voltaire had plenty of other sources of information. 

They sat for friendly conversation over their first round of coffees, and Gil almost missed seeing Wooster reach for his stack of books. When the pastries arrived, Wooster returned the book he had taken. Really neatly done, Gil had to admit. He never even saw the spy tuck the folded schematic into the pages of his Theoretical Hydraulics notes. 

Gil picked up a beignet and bit into it. Warm pastry and soft powdered sugar filled his mouth. Unfortunately, so did a fine grit and an alkaline tang. Grimacing, he returned the other half to the plate. 

“Don’t eat that,” he said. “It’s arsenic.”

“Arsenic?” Uninvited, as though summoned by mention of nefarious deeds, Tarvek Sturmvoraus appeared out of the crowd. He leaned over Gil’s shoulder, peering at the offending pastries. “That’s sloppy work, if you can taste it.”

“I suppose you would know all about poisoning people.” Gil tried to swat him away, but Tarvek sidestepped, nimble like a dancer in the midday throng. 

“I know that whoever is stupid enough to attempt to poison Colette is in a world of trouble.”

Fair enough, but Gil had doubts as to the poisoner’s target. While he considered the possibilities, Tarvek leaned past him and prodded the discarded beignet. His fingertip came away sugared. He tasted it. 

“Ew. Definitely arsenic,” he pronounced. “The cheap stuff. It’s not even finely milled.”

Gil raised one eyebrow at him. “Between the two people who taste the arsenic, who’s the bigger idiot?”

Tarvek’s posture went rigid. “I’m not having this discussion with you right now.”

“Yes, you are.” Gil grinned at him. “You tasted the arsenic after you knew it was there.” His sense of satisfaction swelled at the murmurs of agreement from his friends. 

“That was hardly enough to do any harm,” Tarvek scoffed. “Though it’s terrible stuff. Rough On Rats, or something like it. Perhaps a commentary on your company, Mademoiselle?” He grinned at Colette, that playful boyish grin that Gil remembered from so long ago. 

Gil looked away. 

“Don’t you have upper-crusty friends of your own to pester?” he groused, unable to shake off the ache inside him. He knew that Tarvek and Colette were friends—Colette had most unfortunate taste in redheads, actually. For himself, though, his friendship with Tarvek was long dead, and the moments when he missed it always took him by surprise. 

Colette ignored both barbs. “Oh? What would you have used?”

“Certainly no less than cosmetic grade,” Tarvek assured her. “It’s less detectable by texture.”

“You’re too comfortable joking about arsenic,” Wooster said, and Tarvek told him an outrageous lie. 

“I never joke about arsenic.”

Gil tried to resist, but he failed. “No, you’re always  _deadly_  serious.” Wooster groaned and buried his face in his hands, which was somewhat satisfying. Tarvek grinned, and Gil felt a bit awkward about that. 

“You two are impossible,” Colette said, but she smiled in a way that made Gil feel even more awkward. What had he missed?

Tarvek simply ignored all of them. Leaning past, he picked up a book from Gil’s stack. For a moment, Gil thought he had grabbed the same notebook that now contained Wooster’s schematic. His heart raced, and then Tarvek scoffed at him. “ _Sinister Monomers_? Haven’t you read this yet?”

“I suppose you’re on  _Diabolical Peptides_  already.” Gil snatched the book back from him and returned it to the stack. 

“I started  _Insidious Isotopes_  last night,” Tarvek said, and, seeing Colette’s raised eyebrows, he reached for the plate of pastries. 

“What are you doing?” Gil demanded. 

Tarvek handed the plate to a passing server. “These are tainted,” he said. “Please dispose of them.”

“You idiot!” Gil yelped. “That’s evidence!”

Tarvek arched an eyebrow at him. “Of what? Anyone between the frying oil and this table could have poisoned those without a single person noticing.”

“I’m afraid he’s right,” Wooster said, his expression grim. “Arsenic is so dreadfully common. Unless caught in the act, our poisoner is in the wind.”

“There’s no need to agree with him,” Gil said, annoyed. He wanted to protect his friends from poison, but he would never succeed without a proper lead to follow. Unless he stalked them. He briefly considered Colette’s reaction, and he almost laughed. She would hurt him so, so much. 

“There’s no need to be churlish just because I’m right,” Tarvek pointed out, and Gil’s amusement faded. 

“Boys, please.” Colette pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. “How about we not do this right now? Sit down, Tarvek, and I’ll order us a fresh plate of pastries.”

He gave her a wry look. “Minus the ‘inheritance powder’?”

“I should hope so.”

With a nod, Tarvek reached between two people behind him and dragged an empty chair up to the table. Right beside Gil, who suppressed a groan. He sat, and he gestured for a fresh round of coffees. The waitstaff must like the smarmy sneak, Gil reflected, for the coffee appeared promptly. 

Gil wondered whether he should taste the coffee first, just to be safe. Before he could, Tarvek gave him a defiant stare and took a long sip. Fine, then. Colette ordered  _pain au chocolat_  for everyone, which Gil suspected she did because it was Tarvek’s favorite. That, also, arrived without further incident. Gil took an experimental bite. 

It was delicious. Gently warm, tender pastry encased soft, rich chocolate. Better still, he could detect no trace of poison. He gave a contented sigh, and then he caught Tarvek smirking at him. 

“They serve the best  _pain au chocolat_  here,” he said smugly, as though he had anything at all to do with the quality of the pastry. 

Gil gave a small, begrudging nod of agreement. He began planning extraction maneuvers, thinking of ways to remove himself from the cafe without too much fuss. He had developed a seven-stage plan that would most likely work when Tarvek leaned unnecessarily close to him. 

“What did you do with the other half of that beignet?”

Gil gave him a sour look. “I have no idea what—”

The front door burst open, which was no uncommon occurrence at the Café Insomnie, but the crowd ebbed around the man who had most certainly not come for the coffee. Gil sank down low in his seat, hoping to avoid notice. 

“Where is the villain who dared kidnap Comtesse Fastrada?!”

Colette and Wooster both glanced at Gil, who grimaced at them. Tarvek stared in horror. 

“That was _you?_ ” he demanded. “Oh, why am I not surprised?”

“That’s not what happened,” Gil objected, but Tarvek was working up to a righteous fury. 

“I ought to give you to that public nuisance right now.”

“Please don’t?” Gil had his chin nearly at the level of the table. Wooster helpfully dropped his coat over Gil’s head. 

“You’d better get out while he’s still shaking off his fans,” Colette advised. 

Sensible. 

Gil reached up and grabbed his stack of books before he slid down out of his chair. Moving in a crouch, he scrambled for the side door before Othar Tryggvassen could spot him. 

With any luck, he might get a bit of a head start.  


End file.
